Liamnjase
O N E
Scarlett knew.
She knew how they held hands, she knew how he kissed the taller boy on the cheek when they watched the sappy movies the taller one loved, she knew how they went to parties together and how the smaller boy—the boy who'd asked her out all those years ago, the boy she came to love—wrapped his arm around the taller one's waist and how they smiled at each other like they were in love and how after that they'd kiss, a sweet chaste kiss that was so unlike the boy she loved. The boy who always wanted to party and drink and have sex but could never get anything from her because she was Catholic and had a purity ring that he hated and was the bane of her existence.
Because if she wasn't Catholic and if she didn't have the ring, maybe she'd be different and actually have sex and drink and party and be with him all the time instead of hiding behind the ink and paper she's always loved because before him, she was more interested in books than boys. And some days, she'd sit down and start to read a book but it's some stupid romance where everything turns out peachy keen and the main character's never had to deal with her boyfriend being gay with his best friend and then she'd start crying, her tears falling on the paper and sometimes smearing the ink.
She cried because she knew.
She knew how they held hands, she knew how he kissed the taller boy on the cheek when they watched the sappy movies the taller one loved, she knew how they went to parties together and how the smaller boy—the boy who'd asked her out all those years ago, the boy she came to love—wrapped his arm around the taller one's waist and how they smiled at each other like they were in love and how after that they'd kiss, a sweet chaste kiss that was so unlike the boy she loved. The boy who always wanted to party and drink and have sex but could never get anything from her because she was Catholic and had a purity ring that he hated and was the bane of her existence.
Because if she wasn't Catholic and if she didn't have the ring, maybe she'd be different and actually have sex and drink and party and be with him all the time instead of hiding behind the ink and paper she's always loved because before him, she was more interested in books than boys. And some days, she'd sit down and start to read a book but it's some stupid romance where everything turns out peachy keen and the main character's never had to deal with her boyfriend being gay with his best friend and then she'd start crying, her tears falling on the paper and sometimes smearing the ink.
She cried because she knew.
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New story. <3It's my first time writing something like this, so feedback is appreciated.